


Gravity Well

by shinychimera, Yeomanrand



Series: Gravity Series [2]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, POV Male Character, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-15
Updated: 2011-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 10:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinychimera/pseuds/shinychimera, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeomanrand/pseuds/Yeomanrand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim’s sulking; McCoy hunts him down to talk about what happened. Somehow, the talking part never happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravity Well

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a sequel to _[Center of Gravity](http://kirk-mccoy.livejournal.com/650736.html)_ , but works as a stand-alone PWP-ish story. A really, really late story inspired by the top image at [this](http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com/349655.html#cutid1) locked image post at [Jim_and_Bones](http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com/) on LiveJournal.

The foggy San Francisco sidewalks are steep and damp under Leonard McCoy's aching feet, and the griping worry tight and low in the pit of his stomach is worse than his usual nebulous "someday I'll be out in the black" worry, or his "did I forget a critical detail on that patient's chart" worry, or his underlying everyday weltanschauung.

And where he'd like to blame the enigma that is Jim Kirk, just for the symmetry of it, he knows it's his own damn fault.

Clean out of the blue, contrary Jim — who'd never showed an interest in him beyond the heedless, habitual flirtation he offered the entire universe — had given Leonard a hell of a birthday gift. In his bewildered afterglow, Leonard's response'd been boneless, mindless...and utterly graceless. His gran always told him running his mouth without engaging his brain was going to get him in trouble. Though how he'd been supposed to operate that particular organ when it had just been sucked out his dick is a question for another time.

He pokes his head in the doorway of yet another of the bars they frequent; the third he's checked so far this evening and if his dogs are barking, well, again, the hunt is his own doing. This particular place is a bit more raucous than he figures Jim'll be looking for, too many of their classmates letting their hair down, and after a cursory glance for Jim's faded-gold head he slips back out into the night.

And asks himself again why he cares so damn much that Jim hadn't given him a chance to explain his poor choice of words. No denying the hurt he'd felt when mysterious Jim didn't show up to their usual mess hall for lunch the following day, and no sign of him anywhere on campus for the past two, either; and that's the rub, he thinks, jaywalking after a quick glance across the one-way street to make sure it's clear. Leonard isn't the only one who's been hurt, since he'd apparently misread Jim something fierce; he'd taken his brazen confidence at face value, been alternately offended, astonished, and entertained by Jim's cocky ambition and ability to follow through. And, like the rest of their cadre, he'd come to believe Jim had no gears beyond 'seduce' and 'swagger.'

Two streets over and down another block toward the ocean and he's decided The Ragged Edge is the last place he's going to look, because although it’s farthest from the Academy gate it's probably the place he should have started. Quiet place, the kind where serious drinking gets done, and folks mind their own business.

Leonard steps in, shakes off the damp from the fog, and looks around.

Saturday-busy at the Edge is still pretty subdued compared to his other stops, but a quick jerk of Annie's neatly-cornrowed head helps him spot Jim, curled up around a beer at the dark end of the bar. She also flashes him three fingers; quick notification of how far Jim's in. Not very, at least, which is something, and Leonard orders his own, settling down on the stool to Jim's right.

Remote Jim doesn't look at him, just starts to slide off to his left and Leonard, unthinking, sets a hand on his thigh, hoping to hold him in place long enough to have his say.

"Look, Jim, I—" he starts, cursing himself for the inadvertent hesitation when the intense blue of Jim's eyes lances through him. "I was an ass, all right? I'm sorry."

A smile flashes at him, bright and sharp-toothed. "For what? Dunno what you're talking about."

Leonard can't help the flare of irritation at the glib denial, but he can be just as obstinate so he gives Jim a shake of the head. "We both know damn well what I'm talking about, Jim. Tuesday night, in the dark but for the light of a candle an' me letting thoughtless shit come tumbling out of my mouth instead of sayin' something grateful like I shoulda."

"Obviously should've just let you sleep."

Leonard's words might as well be water on stone for all Jim's reaction to them. The mild, mocking smile lingers on his lips, but not in his eyes, and somehow he's standing, slipping out from beneath Leonard's touch. He tosses a credit chip onto the bar.

Leonard comes to his feet.

"Jim, hear me out, will you? Yeah, I was exhausted. I was so damn tired, in fact, that I'd completely lost track of what day it was. Which is no damn excuse for bein’ so cavalier." Or, for that matter, some of the other uncharitable thoughts he'd chased around, trapped under Jim's insistent mouth, but those'd been as much confusion as anything and he's still off-kilter because he can't parse what opaque Jim wants _now_ any more than he could figure what he'd intended _then_. And maybe he's fucked things up again, but the same bull-stubbornness that roared up to fight for a dead marriage is raging in him now. Trouble is, he's got no damn clue what words might get through Jim's impervious façade.

He reaches out to catch Jim again, anything to keep him from running. Jim halts in his retreat, looks passively down at the hand wrapped around his wrist, and if Leonard hadn't already figured Jim was more wound up than he looked, he'd be sure from the pulse racing beneath his fingertips. Hopeless, helpless, he teeters on the edge of Jim's gravity well, has to swallow down an unexpected wave of terror telling him to let go, to let Jim go, that the edges of the friendship can still be patched up but not if he pushes now.

But he can't. He could release Jim's warm wrist, inveigle Jim into taking his seat again, order them up something stronger than beer — God, he could use a shot of bourbon right now — and settle back into their usual barbed but superficial banter. But that wouldn't stop the elusive Jim he'd hurt from slipping away, leaving Leonard tied in knots all over again.

Despite his pulse beating acid up in his throat, Leonard leans closer, watching Jim's face close as he can in the dim light. His expression is placid, almost bored, so much so that Leonard's twisting doubts almost stop him seeing the involuntary flare of Jim's pupils: desire? or _fright_?

The hell could frighten the almighty James T. Kirk?

 _Jim rests on his thighs, tasting of vodka and lemons, and Leonard's hands caught in his tangled shirt so he can't reciprocate, can't_ touch _and_ hold _the way he craves._

Dazed and overwhelmed, he'd assumed drunken Jim was just being himself, indulging a whim to give Leonard a lewd "gift" after a night filled with better pleasures. He finally wonders if Jim hadn't been drinking to take some nervous edge off, if he hadn't tangled Leonard up deliberately, to be sure the encounter stayed on his terms. The shocking possibility — that Jim might have been apprehensive about reaching out to him, that the gesture had been more than a selfish whim, had maybe _meant_ something to Jim — closes Leonard's throat up but good, and, speechless, he presses a shy kiss of his own on Jim's lips.

For a heartbeat, maybe two, Jim is still and straight as a fencepost — and then he melts into a kiss as fierce as anything Leonard's ever felt. The sea change is enough to nearly buckle Leonard's knees beneath him, and he falls back against the bar stool, letting go of the wrist so he can wrap his arms around Jim, hands settling flat on his lower back.

Jim's hand grinds up Leonard's spine and the nape of his neck, clawing into his hair, pulling their mouths together hard. He leans into the kiss, pressing heedlessly into Leonard's crotch, and then pushes against him, planting Leonard's ass more firmly on the stool and pivoting it beneath them until the bar is close enough he can lever himself up with one forearm.

Leonard's confused by Jim's acrobatics until he pulls his leg across Leonard's thighs and wedges his narrow hips down between the edge of the bar and Leonard's groin. Denim straining against hard denim sends shocks of pleasure all through him, and he can't say whether his hot flush comes from the arousal slamming through his body like a freight train, or his flustered awareness — roused by a good-natured catcall — of the dozen other people in the bar.

When Jim scrapes his teeth lightly over Leonard's lower lip, he decides he doesn't care about other eyes, and he slips his fingertips beneath Jim's waistband where he can feel warm sleek skin and the play of Jim's muscles. Other anxieties lurk underneath, because how can he even _think_ about giving in again without talking? Figuring out some ground rules, like what the hell Jim _wants_? But desire fogs his mind, the reality of Jim's hungry lips and the press of his lean body chasing away disconnected scraps of thought about silence, and worry, and the weight of darkness.

"I'd tell you boys to get a room, but I've got none to let," Annie drawls from behind Jim.

Leonard breaks free of the kiss, cheeks scorching red, and manages a mumbled, "Sorry, ma'am," even though he's not — but he's keenly aware of the "bless your hearts" she's leaving unspoken. Jim's tongue flicks at his upper lip, and his blue eyes blaze with heat focused solely on Leonard.

Insistent Jim circles Leonard's neck with one arm, picking up as breathlessly as he left off, nuzzling swollen lips against chin and cheeks and the corners of the mouth. Leonard lifts a finger to beg Annie for patience. From the outside it might look like all the action is in the frantic kiss but Jim's minutely shifting weight grinds against Leonard's cock, invisible and tantalizing and right on the edge of painful.

Increasingly desperate, Leonard struggles to figure where they can go — their Academy quarters are much too far away. He finally grips fingers into Jim's close cropped hair, physically pulls him back from the kiss, stares into his eyes.

"Where—?" he gasps.

"The john," Jim huffs in return, licks his lip again when Leonard grimaces. "Alley. Roof. Beach. Park. Theater. Taxi. Hotel."

Leonard is struck by how much Jim's managing to tell him without really saying anything, and he braces his hands on the bar to either side of Jim's hips.

"Yeah, okay," he agrees, touching his forehead to Jim's and giving a tiny nod. "Pretty much anywhere, so long as we're together."

He shifts his weight, giving Jim a chance to slide off his lap, and stifles a groan; he hasn't been this close to coming in his pants since he was a horny teenager. Somehow, they stumble their way out of the Edge with Jim plastered hot all along his side, and Leonard squints at the fog-blurred signs on the boulevard, hoping there's a tourist trap of some kind nearby where they can get indoors and horizontal.

Jim decides for him, dragging him abruptly through a gap between buildings and into a parking space tucked under an upper floor. With an expensive car behind him and a couple of bicycles crowded off to one side, Jim presses Leonard hard up against the concrete wall in the only bit of remaining space, and steals Leonard's breath with another fierce kiss. There's not a lot of room, but he slides his hand from Jim's hip, fingertips hunting for the button on Jim's fly.

Breathing heavily, Jim opens a sliver of air between their bodies, and fishes a condom out of a pocket before letting Leonard push jeans and shorts down over his hips. Maddeningly, there's still not quite enough light for Leonard to get a good look at his body, though here it's silver streetlights rather than golden candle glow illuminating Jim's edges. With two fingers, Jim tilts the packet between them in an inquisitive 'you-or-me' gesture, reaching for Leonard's fly with his other hand.

Leonard closes his free hand over the condom, though, shaking his head slightly. He can't help the nervous tongue chasing over his lips, the very idea that he's going to...

"You never gave me a chance to return the favor," he says, gruff and raw. "Unless you had your heart set on somethin' else?"

Jim shakes his head slowly, just a shimmer of silver reflections in his hair over an expression lost in darkness. Leonard braces a hand on Jim's hip, thumb teasing the border of his pubic hair, and uses his grip to turn the two of them so Jim can lean back against the wall, rather than the car that's bound to have some unholy alarm on it.

He tucks the unneeded condom away, takes another kiss and goes cautiously to his knees. A sudden surge of acquisitive lust prompts him to nip at Jim's navel through his t-shirt before stroking downward, taking Jim's balls in one hand and the base of his heavy cock in the other.

Jim's weight sags against the wall as he exhales, looking down at Leonard, face still in shadow. Leonard gives him a faint smile and closes his eyes, middle finger stroking for the sensitive spot behind Jim's balls. He savors the ability to touch at last, drawing his cheek along Jim's heated erection, following along with the encircling ring of his fingers and thumb. He takes the head in his mouth for scant heartbeats, sliding his hand back down just quick enough to keep Jim from thrusting forward.

It's been a while since he last gave a blow job, but Leonard's no novice and he knows exactly what gets _his_ dick going — between that and a little anatomical know-how, Jim's body, at least, holds no secrets. Jim's trying not to disturb the residents of the building, but it's not long at all before he's gasping and moaning softly, and Leonard feels an undeniable thrill in making his control slip.

Leonard's eyes slide open, and he's planning to look up, but his gaze pauses on Jim's fists clenched tight, the points of his knuckles scraping down the wall beside his thighs. Leonard takes away the hand cradling Jim's scrotum to finally undo the jeans painfully constricting his own dick, then reaches up and catches Jim's wrist, drawing the hand to rest against his cheek and ear. Inviting Jim to take back a little of that control, if he wants it.

Jim touches him with tremulous care at first, fingers barely skimming over the sharp Starfleet point of Leonard's sideburn, sliding up into his hair, but another gentle caress of teeth startles a deep groan out of him, and his other hand jerks forward to mirror his spasmodic grip on the parietal curves of Leonard's skull.

Leonard hums his approval, but keeps the ring of thumb and forefinger around the base of the thrusting cock, though it hardly stops Jim's hips from doing their instinctive thing, nor the increasingly desperate noises spilling from him. _Jim_ might have no gag reflex, but Leonard does, and he pulls back for just a moment, hand sliding up and down Jim's cock; he follows his own fingers back down at the insistent tightening of Jim's fingers in his hair.

Jim shifts his palms, trying to warn him off his forward slide, but Leonard is well aware of how close to the edge he is, and he wants this, wants all of Jim, wants to hold him warm and tight right through to the ends of his pleasure. Afterwards, Jim leans back gasping, eyes gazing vague into the distance, before sinking bonelessly down to a crouch: back curled against the wall, naked ass propped off the dirty concrete floor by the heels of his boots, head down between elbows stretched across the jeans rucked around his knees.

Leonard tugs his cock fully free and shifts around, settling next to Jim hip to hip, chasing the taste of him around lips and teeth with the tip of his tongue. He reaches out and sets one hand on the nape of Jim's neck, needing to touch the warmth of his skin, to lean against his steady weight while he curls his other hand around his neglected erection. He's about fit to burst, but almost before he can get a good stroke going, Jim pivots from beneath his hand, onto his knees where Leonard had just been, and he seizes the sides of Leonard's face for another heart-pounding kiss.

The moan Leonard swallows is as much about the intoxicating feeling of Jim's lips on his again as it is the imminence of orgasm. His head is pinned against the wall, and Jim inches closer between his spread knees, leaving just enough room for Leonard's jutting cock and frantically stroking hand. He is so damn close, breathing harsh through his nose...and then Jim drops a hand, folds it around his, and the touch of his warm, rough skin is all Leonard needs to push him over the edge.

Jim presses their foreheads together, echoing Leonard's gesture in the bar, while Leonard rides out the aftershocks and his cloudy vision slowly clears.

Drawing back with a conspiratorial grin, Jim puts a finger across his lips, and pulls Leonard to his feet; he winces when his knees crack. Jim tugs his jeans up and pulls out a handkerchief, offers it to Leonard, who gives a soft snort of amusement but takes the square of cloth to wipe himself off with before handing it back, tucking himself away and doing up his fly. Jim brushes a few spots on his pants before tucking the hankie back in his pocket, then leans out of the garage space, looking both ways before pulling Leonard by the hand out into the parking-access alley and downhill toward the street.

He's disoriented by the time they emerge, but Jim leads him unhesitatingly through a maze of streets and buildings and then downhill through a thicket of cypress, still holding his hand but keeping a step ahead, making it maddeningly awkward to say _thank you_ or anything else. He knows by the sound and smell of the ocean that they're closer to the shore, but he has no idea where Jim's taking him.

They step down onto sand, and the night is black and silver beneath the fog-shrouded sky; aside from a smudge of moonlight, the only thing to give Leonard his bearings are the ghostly pylons of the Golden Gate to his right — enough to recognize that Jim's led them down to Baker Beach. A few steps, and they're on the firmer bike path, and Jim turns around, sand rasping under his boots, still grinning that saucy grin.

"Race ya," he says, drops Leonard's hand, and takes off northward toward the glowing lights.

A dozen curses rise to his lips, but his feet are already taking up the challenge. Only crazy, cussed Jim would think running at midnight through damp air on sand-strewn pavement — with a beer or three in his belly to boot — was a good idea. But Leonard's got running in his blood, and the medals to prove it, and he's not about to let Jim show him up.

Catching up to Jim is a matter of putting on a short burst of sprinter's speed, and he smirks back at the startled sideways glance Jim gives him; after that, he settles in to Jim's pace, running level with him along the deserted bike path toward the Academy buildings on the bluff above. Not so close that they risk brushing or tripping each other, but close enough to be aware of their auras intersecting, their breath rasping just out of sync. The continuous quiet rush of the waves sounds to their left, like the roar of a tireless crowd. Leonard's run _against_ his fair share of competitors, but this is the first time he's run _with_ someone. The stretch and the sweat feel good, actually, stride after stride together through the dark, and he's curiously disappointed when Jim pulls up after only half a kilometer.

He reaches out to brush Jim's arm, checking if he's all right before either of them can catch their breath to speak; Jim nods and beckons him merrily toward the dark slope of the bluff, pats the slab of speckled rock that was apparently his goal marker. Leonard follows, content to trust him.

Lithe Jim picks his way upwards on — not a path, exactly, but an easy winding route among brush and gnarled rocks, with only one steep bit where he offers Leonard a hand up. Leonard scowls at him, but he's also not a god-damned billy goat so he accepts the help.

At the top, they pass through a belt of trees, chests rising and falling in tandem after the mild exertion, and Leonard's not surprised to see the half-lit dormitory buildings ahead.

"Come on up?" he asks, quietly.

Jim pauses, studying Leonard's face, and he wishes he could tell if there's a thousand thoughts behind Jim's eyes, or none at all. His tongue appears briefly at the corner of his mouth, and then he's all dazzling smile again, tilting his head toward Leonard's dorm.

He nods, bemused. He's used to Jim being a fountain of boasts and blather, stories and wisecracks and weird non sequiturs; silent Jim is almost a stranger. Leonard knows, somehow, there's something he's not picking up. But they're still comfortable, and he's just as sure he's well beyond the point of no return; they'll have a chance to talk about it later; he boldly throws his arm around Jim's shoulders, drawing him a little closer, and steals a quick kiss before pulling the outer door open and then shepherding him into the turbolift.

The hallways are empty, but Leonard's not sure company would keep Jim from manhandling his ass. He allows it with a smile, shouldering back into Jim as they pile through the door, though he's hardly up for another round. He's happily adrift in the double endorphins of a good orgasm and a good run, looking forward to simply sharing his bed again.

Once in his room, he calls the lights up low, strips his own shirt off and tosses it in the general direction of the laundry chute, with a smirk in Jim's direction. Wherever they go from here, he's damn sure not going to let mischievous Jim tangle his hands again. Jim gives him a pouty purse of the lips in return, peeling his civvies off neatly, and he hasn't been hiding anything in the dark — he has a fine body, fit without being sculpted, the kind that comes from hard work instead of a gym. Definitely has an astonishing refractory period — his dick perking with interest again as he watches Leonard finish undressing. Avid Jim sits on the edge of the bed, waiting, and Leonard watches him in return.

Hard to believe Jim is really here — solid, real, not pursuing some midnight raid on Leonard's good sense: the piercing blue eyes, the easy grace and active mind Leonard’s been reluctant to admit that he admires.

Leonard comes to him, bending down to kiss him and coaxing him onto his back so he can stretch out alongside. He starts a lazy exploration of Jim's body, firm and light caresses alternating with easy, tongue-tangling kisses. Jim's eyes close, and he pulls Leonard closer so they’re side by side on the pillow. There's no denying he feels good, but Leonard doesn't let Jim rush them back to where they were in the alley, and they gradually settle into a less frantic pace.

Sex and sleep wage a lovely, languorous battle back and forth between them, until Leonard works the same magic on Jim he'd picked up minding small restless cousins — he gazes into Jim's eyes and matches their breathing, and then, slow and subtle, he lengthens the interval of his breaths and his blinks until Jim's heavy eyelids have fallen and he's no longer fighting.

Leonard smiles softly, and snugs an arm around Jim's golden body; content to have captured the mystery for the moment.

But saturnine Jim works his own brand of magic — between one long blink and the next, Leonard wakes in the early morning sunlight, stretching his hand over an achingly empty sheet.


End file.
